This morning Mercer’s face was less pink, and his pale eyes were paler, Kent thought.  Also he started to sprinkle sugar on his eggs in place of salt.

Kent laughed and stopped his hand.  “You may sugar my eggs when I’m dead, Mercer,” he said, “but while I’m alive I want salt on ’em!  Do you know, old man, you look bad this morning.  Is it because this is my last breakfast?”

“I hope not, sir, I hope not,” replied Mercer quickly.  “Indeed, I hope you are going to live, sir.”

“Thanks!” said Kent dryly.  “Where is Cardigan?”

“The Inspector sent a messenger for him, sir.  I think he has gone to see him.  Are your eggs properly done, sir?”

“Mercer, if you ever worked in a butler’s pantry, for the love of heaven forget it now!” exploded Kent, “I want you to tell me something straight out.  How long have I got?”

Mercer fidgeted for a moment, and a shade or two more of the red went out of his face.  “I can’t say, sir.  Doctor Cardigan hasn’t told me.  But I think not very long, sir.  Doctor Cardigan is cut up all in rags this morning.  And Father Layonne is coming to see you at any moment.”

“Much obliged,” nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg.  “And, by the way, what did you think of the young lady?”

“Ripping, positively ripping!” exclaimed Mercer.

“That’s the word,” agreed Kent.  “Ripping.  It sounds like the calico counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot.  Don’t happen to know where she is staying or why she is at the Landing, do you?”

He knew that he was asking a foolish question and scarcely expected an answer from Mercer.  He was astonished when the other said: 

“I heard Doctor Cardigan ask her if we might expect her to honor us with another visit, and she told him it would be impossible, because she was leaving on a down-river scow tonight.  Fort Simpson, I think she said she was going to, sir.”

“The deuce you say!” cried Kent, spilling a bit of his coffee in the thrill of the moment.  “Why, that’s where Staff-Sergeant O’Connor is bound for!”

“So I heard Doctor Cardigan tell her.  But she didn’t reply to that.  She just—­went.  If you don’t mind a little joke in your present condition, sir, I might say that Doctor Cardigan was considerably flayed up over her.  A deuced pretty girl, sir, deuced pretty!  And I think he was shot through!”

“Now you’re human, Mercer.  She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Er—­yes—­stunningly so, Mr. Kent,” agreed Mercer, reddening suddenly to the roots of his pasty, blond hair.  “I don’t mind confessing that in this unusual place her appearance was quite upsetting.”

“I agree with you, friend Mercer,” nodded Kent.  “She upset me.  And—­see here, old man!—­will you do a dying man the biggest favor he ever asked in his life?”

“I should be most happy, sir, most happy.”

“It’s this,” said Kent.  “I want to know if that girl actually leaves on the down-river scow tonight.  If I’m alive tomorrow morning, will you tell me?”